


DON'T PANIC

by SaraDobieBauer



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Armie Hammer - Freeform, Charmie, First Kiss, First Meetings, Fluff, Frottage, Hungover Timmy, M/M, New Relationship, One Shot, Sharing Clothes, Timothee Chalamet - Freeform, bouncer Armie, interesting use of a kitchen island
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,739
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaraDobieBauer/pseuds/SaraDobieBauer
Summary: Timmy wakes up hungover in an unknown bed with no idea how he got there.Luckily, someone left a note.That someone is also asleep on the couch ...
Relationships: Timothee Chalamet and Armie Hammer, Timothée Chalamet/Armie Hammer
Comments: 61
Kudos: 322





	DON'T PANIC

**Author's Note:**

> There's an Instagram post going around right now in which a bouncer rescued a way-too-drunk boy/girl, took him/her home to his place, and left a note on the bedside stand. It's the note Timmy reads in this story.
> 
> Thanks to Renee for sending me the brilliant Instagram post.
> 
> One-shot. Don't yell at me xoxo

Timmy woke suddenly. He thought he might still be in the club due to the pounding in his head, but nope, that was his pulse.

_(Waow-waow-waow.)_

“Fuck.” He covered his head with his hands to keep it from, oh, exploding, because that was what it felt like it was going to do. Just explode all over the damn place. His tongue was an old, dry sponge in his mouth, and his throat hurt. It was the hurt that meant he had puked, and he hadn’t puked since the flu two years ago.

He groaned and rolled onto his side. He was cautious when he opened his eyes because he knew more pain was forthcoming.

And, uh, he was definitely not in his bedroom.

He shot up in an unfamiliar bed and immediately regretted that decision. “Oh, sweet Jesus.” The room only spun for a second before the world righted itself and Timmy noticed light from the window. The sun was on its way, which meant it was probably around 5:30, 6 AM.

_Okay, where the fuck are you, you dumb idiot?_

He was frankly surprised he still had his kidneys.

_And where is your phone?_

He perused the area carefully because he knew that if he moved his head too quickly, he would probably die. And Christ, he was only in boxers? Bad, bad, bad.

There was a piece of paper on the nightstand which Timmy first ignored, but he then squinted at both the paper and the bottle of Tylenol and glass of water.

“Bless you,” he told whoever had kidnapped him but had at least left him drugs. He took the pills and chugged the entire glass of water before turning on the lamp by the bed and picking up the paper that had, interestingly, his name written across the top.

_Timmy:_

_**DON’T PANIC** _

_Have some Tylenol and water. Also, the bathroom is straight across from you._

_**Where am I?** _

_In the bedroom of the bouncer you were talking to last night. You weren’t in a state to be left alone, wouldn’t/couldn’t get in a taxi, and none of your friends were answering the phone._

_**Where is my …?** _

_Phone? It was on the bedside table. If it’s not there, maybe check under your pillow._

_Clothing you threw up on? Washed them. Now in the dryer. There are sweatpants and a hoodie on the chair by the door._

_**What now?** _

_Whatever you like. Sneak out (follow the road downhill to the city center) or stay in bed. If you want a shower, there are clean towels in the bathroom and an extra toothbrush on the sink._

_Sincerely, Armie, the bouncer asleep on the couch in the living room_

“‘Clothing you threw up on?’” He groaned again and fell back amidst the pillows and sheets. How humiliating. The night before, he’d been so drunk that a stranger had been forced to take care of him.

Armie.

Armie?

Hmm, yes, Timmy had talked to a bouncer. They had been at … shit, what was the place called? Ballentine. Right, Ballentine.

And Josh had broken up with Timmy yesterday.

And Timmy’s heart had hurt.

Timmy had wanted to feel nothing, so Timmy had drank himself into a full black out plus vomit fest and all his dumb friends had abandoned him to …

Armie the bouncer.

Images started coming back. Lots of dancing. Bright lights. Shots of something dark and ominous with Saoirse. A huge hot guy in a tight black t-shirt that left nothing to the imagination.

Armie. The huge hot guy had been “Armie,” and Timmy had made a goddamn fool of himself.

Since his phone was not on the bedside table, he reached under his pillow, and yep, there it was … with about a million panicked texts from Saoirse. He sent one back quickly (“I’m fine. Call you later.”) and checked the time: 6:15 in the morning.

He had trouble rolling out of bed, like a turtle on its back, but did eventually shuffle to the chair where he found the aforementioned hoodie and sweatpants. He pulled them both on—and felt ridiculous. Both items had to be three times too big.

“Great,” he muttered, folding over the top of the sweat pants so they would at least stay up. He made it to the bathroom. Unsurprisingly, he did not need to pee because he had zero fluids in his body due to irresponsible alcohol consumption. He probably had Jager pumping through his veins.

He grabbed the toothbrush on the counter, covered it in two inches of toothpaste, and scrubbed every inch of his sandpaper mouth. Huh, this Armie guy kept a clean house. The bathroom was simple, minimalist, with everything in its place, from the electric razor to the aftershave to the carefully folded towels on the back of the toilet—towels for Timmy, the unexpected, probably very annoying house guest.

Mouth clean, Timmy splashed water on his face. His hair was a lost cause, sticking up in at least sixty-two different directions. “Fuck it,” he told his puffy-eyed reflection. Time to face the music.

The apartment wasn’t familiar at all. He wondered if he’d been unconscious when Armie carried him in the night before. Wouldn’t surprise him. 

As the note explained, Timmy found Armie asleep on the couch. He was too big for the couch. His feet stuck up over the end of one armrest, while his upper torso curled in the corner beneath the other. “Uncomfortable” was an understatement.

Timmy cleared his throat, and Armie shifted.

“Morning?” Timmy said. “Uh …”

Armie shifted some more, still in jeans and that sexy black t-shirt from the night before. When he startled and lifted his head, his blond hair was entirely flat on one side, and he looked even more confused than Timmy had been earlier.

“I, uh, sorry to wake you. And sorry about last night. I’m Timmy.”

Armie thunked his head back down on a pillow. “I know who you are,” he mumbled.

“Right, so, I’ll just … I should … I’ll go.” He started to turn, hell-bent on finding the dryer as quickly as possible and never going back to Ballentine for the rest of his life.

Armie’s voice stopped him. “Why were you so hammered last night?”

“Oh.” He toed the hardwood floor. “My asshole boyfriend broke up with me.”

Armie talked with his eyes closed, snuggled under a duvet that—like the couch—was too small for him. “Who the fuck would break up with you?”

Timmy shrugged. “Plenty of people.”

“You’re too beautiful to break up with.”

He snorted. “Dude, are you even awake?”

“Well, I am now.” Armie tossed the blanket off his shoulders, sat up, and stretched his arms above his head, adding a massive yawn for good measure. The MGM lion would have been impressed. “Coffee?”

“Don’t you want me to go?”

Armie stood and swept past him. Their shoulders just brushed. “You look hilarious in my clothes,” he said.

Timmy followed him to the kitchen, where Armie gestured to a bar stool by the granite island.

“Sit.”

Timmy sat—and winced when Armie turned on the overhead light: a post-modern chandelier made of Edison bulbs and metal rods. Neither man spoke as Armie got the coffee pot going, but then, he turned and rested his hands on the island across from Timmy.

“You’re lucky it was me and not some creep who took you home last night. You know that, right?”

Timmy slumped. “Yes.”

“It’s stupid to get that drunk. I don’t care about your bad breakup. It is _always_ stupid to get that drunk.”

Timmy could have been all pissed about the preaching, but he wasn’t. Armie was right. He buried his head in his hands. “I’m an idiot.”

“Doubtful. When I first saw you, you were about to fight somebody over who was the most brilliant existential philosopher, and at one point, you went full French. Like, you forgot English.”

Timmy groaned. “I am so sorry.”

Armie chuckled and leaned his elbows on the island. The smell of coffee was already filling the room. “It would have been cute if I hadn’t been so worried about you.”

Timmy looked up. “You don’t even know me.”

Armie turned around and pulled two black coffee mugs from above the machine. “Yeah, but, I don’t know. There’s something … pure about you.”

Timmy barked out a laugh. “I am definitely _not_ pure.”

“Well.” He poured the coffee. “You are to me.”

“Didn’t you, like, watch me puke?”

Armie took a slurp of his coffee before handing Timmy his. “Obviously. I wasn’t going to let you wander down a dark alley by yourself. You could have been Jack the Rippered or some shit.”

He had puked in an alley? What alley? That was it, it was official: Timmy should be dead but wasn’t, thanks to this huge man, who sipped coffee with a smirk. “How can you possibly still think of me as pure if you watched me vomit?”

“Even unicorns would puke if they ate bad berries in the enchanted forest.”

The giggle was a lot like vomit in that Timmy couldn’t stop it from coming out. He laughed so hard, he thought he might still be drunk. Armie watched him, smiling, until Timmy finally calmed down and managed a cautious sip of coffee. Cautious because there was no telling what his hungover stomach might do.

“Is this a usual thing for you?” Timmy asked. “Being a hero?”

“Nope. I’m usually kind of an asshole. Comes with the whole bouncer gig.”

“Do you like being a bouncer?”

Armie shrugged. “I prefer doing security. That’s my main thing, but my buddy owns Ballentine, so I help him out when I can.”

Timmy lifted his eyebrows. “Security, huh? Bet you’re a bad ass, aren’t you? Kicking ass; taking names.”

Armie turned serious. “I don’t usually get their names.”

Timmy giggled—again. Jesus, maybe he really was still drunk.

“And what about you, party boy? Do you work or just get drunk and hit on bouncers?”

“I hit on you?” he squeaked.

“Direct quote: ‘I would climb you like a tree.’”

Timmy put his forehead down on the cool countertop. “No. Oh, my God, I’m the worst. Oh, my God.”

Now, Armie was laughing. “I didn’t mind. It’s not every day I get harassed by a unicorn.”

When Timmy finally lifted his head, Armie snorted.

“You are literally the color of a tomato right now.”

“Gah!” Timmy covered his face with his hands.

“Seriously, what do you do?”

He spoke through his fingers. “I’m in college. Master’s in philosophy.”

“Ah.” Armie snapped his fingers. “That would explain the existential argument. You studying French, too?”

He dropped his hands from his face but only because he wanted more coffee. It was black and bitter—coincidentally, probably a French roast. “I’m half French.”

“That is …” Armie paused. “Incredibly hot.”

Again, his cheeks heated. “You’re _trying_ to embarrass me, aren’t you?”

Armie grinned—all white teeth and crinkling blue eyes. “And it is so fucking easy.”

Timmy rested his chin in his upturned palm. “On the topic, anything else I should know about last night?”

Armie winced, and his nose wrinkled.

“Fuck my life, what?”

“You …” Armie stretched out the word like a musical note. “You kissed me. Or, well, you _tried_ to kiss me.”

“Of course I did.” He nodded as if his idiocy was the solution to a math equation: Timmy + Too much booze = Fucking moron.

“It was acrobatic, honestly. You, like, swung with a hand on my shoulder and leg around my hip.” Armie motioned to both areas of his body as he spoke. “Missed my mouth, though. Kissed my chin. Then, since the elevator is broken, I carried you up three flights of steps.”

Timmy shook his head. “We will never speak of last night again.”

“Dunno, unicorn, last night could be the beginning of a really great story.” He sipped his coffee but never took his eyes off Tim.

He’d already completely embarrassed himself in front of this man. Why not pour salt on the wound, huh?

Timmy pushed his coffee mug to the side and climbed onto the island. Armie stood up straight when he did it but didn’t back away. Like a prowling feline, Timmy crawled closer, closer, until he took Armie’s mug from his hand and set it on the island. Then, Timmy swung his legs in front of him so they hung off the island’s edge with Armie standing between them.

With the island’s help, Timmy was Armie’s height. He poked his finger into Armie’s chin. “So. I kissed you. Here?”

Armie’s gulp was audible. “Mmhmm.”

Timmy grabbed the front of Armie’s t-shirt and pulled him closer. Even with the bed head and scruff, he was still hot; or maybe hotter because of both those things. “How about here?” He kissed Armie’s cheek, and Armie’s hands came to rest on the top of Timmy’s thighs.

“Nope, you missed that spot.”

“Here?” Timmy kissed his other cheek.

“You missed that spot, too.”

“What about here?” He kissed the tip of Armie’s nose, and Armie’s hands squeezed.

“Nope.”

Timmy pulled back and smiled. “Man, I missed a lot of spots.”

Armie smiled and licked his bottom lip. His hungry gaze was like a physical touch across Timmy’s face. “You are the most gorgeous—”

Timmy wrapped his arms around Armie’s head and pressed their lips together. Armie’s moan was immediate, and Timmy gobbled it right up. They were pretty much a mess. There was Timmy, whose liver sobbed and banged against his innards. Then, there was Armie, sleep deprived and with coffee-flavored morning breath. Didn’t matter.

They devoured each other, kisses alternating between only lips to tongues to teeth. Timmy could barely breathe by the time Armie pushed him onto his back and climbed on top of him on the island.

Oops, spatial awareness.

Their sudden arrival on the counter knocked Timmy’s discarded coffee mug to the kitchen floor, where it shattered. They both paused.

“Eh, I didn’t like that coffee cup anyway.”

“M’kay.” Timmy latched onto the back of Armie’s head and kept kissing.

They kissed until their bodies rolled against each other, until pants were shoved out of the way and down. Armie wrapped his huge hand around both of them, and they thrust together until Timmy scraped his nails down Armie’s back and came all over his own stomach. Armie was quick to follow, and the obscene wave of grunts that accompanied his completion would brighten Timmy’s foreseeable future.

Armie melted on top of him, both of them panting. Timmy rubbed his nose against the side of Armie’s neck and hummed. Armie dug his fingers into Timmy’s hair and rubbed his scalp.

“Fuck me,” Armie muttered.

“Eh, if you’re lucky.”

Their entwined bodies shook with Armie’s laugh. He spoke with his lips against the side of Timmy’s face. “I really didn’t bring you back here for this.”

“I know.” He gave the back of Armie’s neck a squeeze. “You just wanted to keep me safe.”

“I want to be a thing with you,” Armie said. “Can we be a thing?”

Timmy chuckled. “Sure.”

“Don’t sound so excited.”

“I should probably tell you now: I’m not very functional post-orgasm.”

Armie did a push up over Timmy. “Screw the coffee; let’s go back to bed.” He slid backwards and put his feet on the floor. As soon as Timmy sat up, Armie put an arm around his back and another under his knees and lifted.

“Whoa! Careful.”

“Told you I carried you up three flights of steps. Think I can’t carry you to my bedroom?”

“My horny hero.”

“Yeah, well, only for you, unicorn.”

Back in Armie’s bedroom, he put Timmy down carefully, probably trying to avoid vomit, part two, and took off his jeans before disappearing into the bathroom for a few minutes. He returned wearing nothing but plaid pajama pants.

Realizing his own sticky predicament, Timmy said, “Um, could I borrow more of your clothes?”

Armie laughed but tossed him a pair of basketball shorts that were, again, way too big.

As soon as they got under the covers, Armie reached for Timmy, and they adjusted to the teaspoon/tablespoon position. Armie sighed against the back of Timmy’s neck. “I was wrong, what I said earlier.”

Timmy was already drifting back to sleep when he asked, “Which part?”

“You don’t look hilarious in my clothes. You look adorable.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come play with me on [Tumblr](http://saradobiebauer.tumblr.com/)! I'm ridiculously in love with Timmy over there!


End file.
